


(she said) he said, she said

by Keenir



Category: Blood Ties, Falco Series - Lindsey Davis, Highlander: The Series, Rome
Genre: 2010, Crossover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-27
Updated: 2010-12-27
Packaged: 2017-10-14 03:57:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/145086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keenir/pseuds/Keenir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every teacher learns from their own teachers and their circumstances, and they tell it to those who will listen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(she said) he said, she said

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Taz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taz/gifts).



> Written for: Taz (Tazlet)
> 
> Crossover with: Rome, stealth crossover with Lindsey Davis’ Falco series, and a little Blood Ties.
> 
> Spoilers: Take Back The Night, Little Tin God, Comes a Horseman, Revelations.
> 
> Author's Note: Midway through writing this, I realized who would have been perfect for this prompt. Kronos. But that would not have been complying with the listed characters. (next fic, maybe)
> 
> I picture Puduhepa as resembling Emmanuelle Vaugier - who has guest starred in such Highlander episodes as Chivalry \- as she appears in Covert Affairs and CSI:New York.
> 
> Prompt:  
> I want to receive:  
> 1\. Methos, Duncan, Connor, Amanda, Walter Graham, Gabriel Petain – prefer slash or gen.  
> 2\. I’d like to read a period piece set at a time (or the umpteenth time) an immortal has been facing the negative consequences of immortality that explores how they (re)negotiate a commitment to living.  
> 3\. No brain-damaged or infantilized characters. No Richie, no Richie equivalents, no downy chick types of any sex as love objects.  
> Crossovers I would like to read:  
> 1\. Rome -- Methos and (+/) Titus Pullo.  
> 2\. Blood Ties -- serious extra points for working in a Shakespearean play somehow.  
> & _  
> Also Ulysseus once—that other war.  
>  (Is it because we find his scrawl  
> Today on every privy door?)  
> Also was there—he did it for the wages—  
> When a Cathay-drunk Genoese set sail.  
> Whenever “Longen folk to goon on pilgrimages,”  
> Kilroy is there; he tells the Miller’s Tale._  
> Excerpted from the poem ‘Kilroy’ by Peter Viereck
> 
>  
> 
> Note: The Hittite Empire really did vanish overnight, at least archeologically - there was a fire in the Capitol, and thereafter was no more evidence of their culture or writing system.

****

*.*.*

 **  
_“Hannibal is at the gates!”_   
**

_  
**So said many generations of Romans to their children to get them to bed and have them behave. But Immortals know there are worse things than a Hannibal.**   
_

****

*.*.*

 **1200s AD**

 **At the Harbor of Pompeii, adjacent to dormant Vesuvius**

“What did you mean that the mountain has caused you no end of trouble?” Amanda asked Rebecca’s guest. It would be another seven hundred years before she knew he was Methos. It was already evident to her that he didn’t appreciate the interruption of his stretching-out-and-relaxing here in the palatial home Rebecca was borrowing from a friend.

“Exactly what I said,” Methos said. Rebecca had already told him that her student was pleasantly inquisitive for one her age.

“But it’s a mountain,” Amanda said.

“Yes.”

“Did you fall off of it?”

“I did not.”

“Then what could a mountain do?” Amanda asked.

Methos smiled thinly. “When I stood in the shadow of Vesuvius, Amanda, so many things were at my fingertips.”

“And the mountain stopped you?” She suspected even Rebecca would laugh at that - _at least a little._

“That’s how it appeared.”

“But?” Amanda asked. _There has to be more to it than that._

“It’s a long story.”

“I have time,” Amanda said.

“And that’s what this is all about,” Methos said. “That and how to survive.”

Amanda frowned. “But that’s what we do - because we’re Immortal, we always survive.”

“Rebecca has taught you well,” Methos said.

Amanda beamed.

“But the tale I am about to tell you, this involves the aspect Rebecca has not covered.”

“What?” Amanda asked.

“Why?” Methos corrected.

“Why what?”

“Why survive?” Methos said.

 ****

*.*.*

 **60 AD**

 **Britain**

 **Ten years before the Eruption:**

 _I should have let Falco take this case,_ Methos thought as he saw where the theft of shields and uniforms from the legion had led him. Based on the footprints, the thieves had forgotten almost everything they had learned during their military service. One of the thieves had gotten away; the others were all here. _And all dead,_ Methos noted. Also dead was a small clan of tribesmen and women.

One of whom was Immortal.

 _Yes, you’ll help nicely,_ Methos thought, so he went over to her and tied her up. He could sense that she didn’t know about Immortality. _Except maybe that she’s hard to kill._

That done, he moved a couple of paces away, sat, and waited patiently for her to start breathing again.

  
*****   


Dawn was breaking on the horizon when she gasped that first long gulp of air that gives away the presence of one’s resurrection.

“Good morning,” Methos said.

She tried to move, only to find she was bound tightly. “Who are you?” she asked.

“You were dead. You’re not now.”

She froze, eyes watching him like a hawk for a sign - however small - he was lying. “What are you?”

“Better,” Methos said. _Certainly, I’m better than the last time I did anything like this….which was with Cassandra. Though Puduhepa came close._ “You are like me,” Methos said.

“I am a warrior. I fight for -”

“Your clan is dead. Look around you. Surely you were alive when it happened.”

“I killed them alongside… They killed me. I killed them and they killed me again. I…”

“You live,” Methos said.

“I live,” she echoed.

“Yes, you do. What is your name?”

She tensed. “What do you want it for?”

Methos sighed. “I don’t want it for power over you. I won’t use it to control you, you have my word on that. I simply wish to know what to call you.”

That seemed to satisfy her. “I am Ceirdwyn. And you are?”

“You should feel flattered,” Methos said. “It’s been…a long time since I went out of my way for anyone.” _And if I have any say in the matter, it’ll be twice as long again before I intervene again. I prefer solving issues myself…but I can‘t help needing help this time._

“I’ll kill you,” Ceirdwyn vowed though not as forcefully as she had spoken when she had first woken up with him nearby.

“You’re welcome to try; its not like you’d be the first. I’ll wait for you to get untied before you attack me - take your time, I can wait. It’ll save me from chasing after you. But let’s assume you succeed, then what? What will you do next?”

“I -”

“Your clan is dead. Your enemies and your allies have all joined Rome, swearing allegiance to the current Caesar.” Methos came closer. “What do you intend to do?”

“I will find something,” she said.

 _I’ve seen how that ends. You’ll forgive me if I’d rather avoid that outcome here. You may not find Kronos, but you might create a warband just as dangerous as I did._ “No.”

“No?”

“That’s right,” Methos said. “I said no. You’re going to have a plan.”

“I want none of your plans.”

“Oh I don’t have any, not for you. Just some suggestions.”

“Suggestions?”

“That’s right.”

She frowned.

“Come with me,” he offered. “I know someone who can help (you). A teacher.” When that didn’t seem to be getting through, “A woman who has been through the same as you.”

“Her family was butchered by the Romans?”

“Yes,” _and no. There weren’t any literal Romans in her time._ “Now, if you’re ready to be untied, I will take you to her.”

Ceirdwyn looked at him, eyeing spots on his person where he might be concealing a weapon.

She nodded.

“Good,” Methos said and began to untie her -

Whereupon Ceirdwyn knocked him aside and grabbed his dagger -

And in the blink of an eye, Methos was behind her, a blade to her throat. _A thousand and some years ago, woman, and we might have to let you join the Horsemen._

“Just you try,” she spat.

 _Spirit. Definitely has that in abundance._ “Don’t waste my time. Give me your answer.”

“Who is this woman you would take me to?”

Methos eased off on the blade. “Someone I met a long while ago…”

  
***.*.***   


**In the year of its destruction, Hattushash, capital city of the Hittite Empire:**

Puduhepa opened her eyes. She saw rubble all around. Only ruins remained of her home.

She could remember walking the paths reserved for royalty just…was it yesterday? She raised a hand to the side of her head, and it came back stained with half-dried blood.

Bile sloshed of its own accord in her stomach. Some of it was presently nesting in her throat, burning attempts to breathe evenly, poisoning any memories of eating or drinking. Stomach pain was enough to disrupt any regularity. And stomach pain together with a head injury was plenty to keep her from focusing very well, very long, or very far.

She rose to her feet, unsteady only a moment and, once steady, was struck by the horror on this hill. All around her was destruction: not a single building remained intact. The segments which still stood, bore fire up and down their lengths and surrounding them - not a blaze any longer, but the exhausted remains of one.

When she let herself see further, Puduhepa saw that the neighboring hills were no more intact than hers. Witnessing all this, she was afraid to see what fate had befallen the sacred temple and the Green Stone.

“Where is everyone?” Puduhepa asked herself, for there was no one else to ask. There were no corpses in sight, nor any wounded survivors.

Just her.

What happened next was a babble to her mind, which tried to sort it out as __

_-wind whipping at her ears and touching not a single strand of hair or her skin and clothes._

 _-the higher notes of a fire’s cries to the heavens._

 _-dissonant flute notes._

Puduhepa looked around herself and around until -

“That’s quite enough,” said a skull-faced man she recognized the voice of.

“Methos,” she said, turning to face him, keeping her posture and face as calm as possible under these circumstances. _When last I saw you, you were visiting the Court as a representative of the Four Horsemen to tell us of our impending doom. Were you unhappy all the slaves and wealth bribes you left with? For you will receive nothing further now._ “Why?” Opposite of Puduhepa from him, rode another Horseman.

“Why what?” Methos asked, staying on his horse. He kept the skullpiece on as well.

“Ending the Empire,” she said. “Looting and crushing and shattering,” and fought to keep herself still.

“Brother?” the other Horseman asked Methos. _The big one,_ Puduhepa thought to herself.

“She gives us credit we neither earned nor took,” Methos told him. The other Horseman growls at this, upset at the misattribution.

“Look around,” Methos told her. “There are no bodies. There is no blood spattering the walls and the earth. No bones were ground into the dust, nor men and women used and discarded. Only fire and collapse.”

“At your hand,” Puduhepa said, convinced of it.

“To what end?” he asked her. “All your riches were gone before we arrived.”

“To what end?” she repeated. “We did not capitulate to you, thus -”

“Therefore we destroyed your capitol and did so neatly and cleanly?” Methos laughed. “I’m not sure if you’re complimenting or insulting us.”

The other Horseman laughed, a deep and rich sound which Puduhepa might have enjoyed on any other day.

Instead, right now, she stared at Methos, at the point where she no longer cared what diplomatic niceties she was casting aside.

“You think the Horsemen did this?” Methos laughed. “In all seriousness, is that what you think?”

“Who else remains?” Puduhepa asked. “Egypt would not dare. Persia is in the midst of yet another round of squabbles.”

“There are the Ionians,” Methos said.

“With neither the reach nor the unity to come further than Caria,” she replied.

“The Hebrews and Canaanites,” he offered up.

“If either grew strong enough to march on Hatti, Egypt would have quashed them by that point.”

 _An interesting assumption_ , Methos thought. _As it ignores the possibility of Egypt letting them run northwards so long as they don’t cross the Sinai. Stranger tactics have been agreed upon._

“Well I’m flattered,” Methos said. “And that’s why I’m going to let you run.”

“You mean aside from for your sport.”

“Well, one must be sporting. To do otherwise is uncivilized - wasn’t that what you told me once?” _Back when you were mortal._

“Will you run like a deer, an ostrich, or a baboon?” the other Horseman asked her, and his voice suggested it was not a rhetorical question - he genuinely was curious.

She glared at him. “And if I refuse?” she asked Methos.

“Oh you’ll run,” Methos said confidently. _And whether you escape or we capture you, we‘ll find out who laid waste your Empire. See in whose name it was done._ “You see, you are the last of your kind. You weren’t wrong about that. So you have few choices - you can remain here and let me kill you, you can run far enough you find someone willing to teach you how to kill me and the Horsemen…or you can run just enough to give my horse the exercise before I dispatch you to your neglectful gods.”

“My gods are not neglectful,” Puduhepa said firmly.

“And yet here you are,” Methos observed. “So, either they care nothing for you, or I am more powerful than they are. Which gives you greater comfort?”

“If I run…?” she asked.

“I’m feeling generous. I’ll give you a day and a half before I start tracking you down.” He smiled down on her. “That begins right now, by the way.” _You would be dead in less than ten seconds if you charged at my Brother or myself. I’m giving you a way out. We may still kill you, but this way you have a chance._

Puduhepa ran.

 ****

*.*.*

 **  
_Five years after the destruction of the Hittite Empire:_   
**

Puduhepa felt no urge to stop slaughtering lowly mortals. She looked around her. No fires raged and no animals scattered. Everyone was dead. __

 _Now it is I who am the harrying one, the wolf at the door, the tiger taking bites from the flanks of polis and kingdoms alike. And I am better at it than the Horsemen ever were,_ she thought with pride.

She also thought to herself, _This is getting too easy. Plan well enough, and there aren’t any left._

 _How long can I continue in this vein? Indefinitely. The only action I have not taken in this line of activity, is to destroy a nation in its entirety as it was done to my own._ And she was in no hurry to do **that**. She had already made the Horsemen look like second-rate amateurs.

If Methos or the Watchers were keeping an eye on her, they would have no doubt that Puduhepa was wiping out anyone who might have had any hand - any role, however slight - in the destruction of the Hittite Empire, just in case Methos was right. Also evident to any observer was that she had more than proven how single-minded she could be.

 _How long do I want to keep at this?_ she asked herself, and considered. _What future remains available to me, should I continue to outdo the Four Horsemen at their profession?_ Aside from the possibility of being inducted into the ranks of the Horsemen, there were very few things to chose from. Lethal boredom being foremost.

More than that, she did not wish to become a Horseman in name or spirit or any other way. But what did that leave?

 _I have dedicated five years of my life to this,_ Puduhepa thought. _Let me remain equally focused in all other things I do._ She had confidence she could do so, as even from her youngest years she had been told of her steadfast concentration, an unwavering attention.

 _Something else. I can do that. Yes, I can do that easy._

 _I’ve proven myself capable of defeating the Horsemen at their mastery - nothing else can be a greater challenge._

Overhead, a goshawk screamed as it folded its wings to dive upon its long-eared prey. And that told her what to do next.

There would still be blood. But it would be formalized, deliberate. Not this.

 ****

*.*.*

 **In the year of Hannibal Barca’s death, northern Anatolian coast:**

And then there were two. The great General himself, facing the incoming tides. And Puduhepa, waiting for his orders.

“You have fought well in my service,” Hannibal told her.

“I am honored to have been part of your scourge,” she said. It was not simply loyalty to Hannibal that had kept her in the fight. It had been personal as well. _The Romans are a fractious lot, always knifing one another even in times of crisis. My own family did not permit such divisions as we ruled ****_our _Empire._ Service to Hannibal had been an opportunity to ensure the observation of the rules of warfare and the management of all details.

“I know why you fought for me,” Hannibal said, and stepped over to the whicker casket. He opened it, and lifted a crystalline sphere from it. “The Stone gives either everlasting life or invulnerability. I chose the wrong one.” _I had thought its powers would cover my men as well as myself._ “May you chose better than I have.”

Her eyes wide, “I cannot take it,” Puduhepa objected.

“And why is that?”

“My life is already long without end.”

“I see that. Then invulnerability -”

“Brings with it the temptation to stop learning how to defend myself and to fight for my life.”

“Both are important,” Hannibal agreed. “Very well,” and plucked a little crystal out of the sphere…which shifted its cold shape into a ragged assemblage that barely seemed in any way circular. “This small one, for our host. The rest, for you - it won’t protect you, I promise.”

She looked at him, glad of the reassurance, but with not an inkling of where he was going with this.

“Guard it, Puduhepa,” he instructed her. “Give parts of the Stone to those you deem worthy. That is my final order to you.” _Rome is on the doorstep of this kingdom, her soldiers coming to capture me. They will not bring a prisoner into the Senate - I will not allow myself that fate._

“I swore to fight for you,” Puduhepa said. “You are still a leader and a skilled tactician. We can bring down Rome.” _When you were still a soldier in your uncle’s army, I chose to subordinate myself to your military aims, focusing my life and my energies on winning battles._ For much of the past centuries, that has been how she has proceeded. Always maintaining an unwavering focus and resolute loyalty.

Hannibal smiled. “My youth is behind me. My reputation of late is a string of defeats. Carthage has repudiated me, and my allies are dead.”

“You have me,” Puduhepa said. “And I can summon a phalanx of men and women of a kind like myself,” and met his eyes. “You have seen my kind.”

He nodded. He had seen her and another heal from crippling wounds that would have incapacitated anyone else, and step from the field of battle with nary a scratch to their person.

Puduhepa was not sure how she would assemble an army of Immortals, particularly in a short amount of time. _But I have offered, and I am only as good as my word. That is how I have survived this long. That and being the best._

“And what would we offer in payment?” Hannibal asked, trying to put the thought away. “I have no coffers.”

“The crystal,” she said at once.

“No.”

“Then -”

Swiftly, Hannibal interrupted. “You swore your allegiance to me, woman. You gave me your oath that you would obey.”

She nodded.

“They obey my last command.”

Puduhepa gave a long, slow nod of assent. “And what of yourself, sir?”

“I have already made my plans. Rome shall not win, you can rest assured of that,” and he paid her no further heed.

Dismissed, she took the Stone with her, and walked away.

 ****

*.*.*

 **In the year following the Assassination of G. Julius Caesar, Imperial Rome:**

Titus Pullo opened his eyes. And he saw he was not in the sunlit world.

“You’ve awoken,” a woman told him. “I trust you understand your surroundings.”

“The sewer,” Pullo said. _Again. Only this time I’m not helping anyone._ “You thought I’d believe this is an afterlife?”

“A mind reaches for any explanation,” she replied.

“And you’re afraid,” Pullo told her.

“Elaborate,” she told him.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Suck me.”

“Not in this century, barbarian,” she said.

“Barbarian?” Pullo repeated. He took a closer look at the cast of her skin. “Listen, you Greek bitch, I am a Roman. Not some sheepwanker like your sort.”

Her eyes narrowed. “When I was young, my family ruled a mighty empire.”

“And here you are, with not even a cloth to keep your precious feet from getting grimy,” Pullo said.

“All things pass, Titus Pullo,” she said, not rising to the bait. “With few exceptions.”

“The gods alone. Not you and me.”

“Closer than you might think,” she said. “Let me offer you this deal - answer my question, and I will release you.” _Will you watch the Stone for me? I have some…things to deal with._

“Kill me, you mean,” Pullo said. He could see her reaction was noticeable amusement on her face.

“That would defeat the purpose of,” spreading her arms a touch, “all this.”

 _Fine._ “You’re afraid. You bound me here, means you’re worried what I might’ve done if I came to down here in this candlelit room with just the two of us.”

She raised an eyebrow, but let him continue.

“I don’t know you, and you don’t look like anybody I’ve killed, so you didn’t do this for revenge. I don’t hear tittering or hushings, so you didn’t bring servants with you.” _If you’re from an equestrian family or higher, you’ve fallen on harder times than Vorenus himself._ “That leaves one thing,” Pullo said. “You want me to kill somebody you’re afraid of.”

“More than yourself,” she agreed. _And if you can kill Methos, I will be more than impressed. But I’ll be satisfied even if you never meet him, provided you keep the Stone safe and secure._

“More than me. So why grab me? The city’s full of men who’d slice open anybody you paid them to.”  
“I’m not interested in killing mortals. Your Janus does that enough for me.”

 _You’re a goddess? Rather ragged, even if you are incognito,_ Pullo couldn’t help but think. “Then why not get one of your holy-ass priests to do it?” _Unless you’re Cybele - which might explain me being all tied up and - and no way are you slicing off any of **my** parts!_

“I have no priests, Titus Pullo.”

“You’re not a goddess?”

“No more than Helen of Sparta was,” she said. _Abducted by Troy, who tried to draw us into a war._

“Then why use my name like that?” Pullo asked.

“Diplomacy was drilled into me at a very young age.”

“Bet you had a great ass then.”

“I thought so, yes,” she said.

“So what is it you want with me?” Pullo asked. “If you want me, all you had to do was ask. And find a better room than this.”

“I need you to guard something for me,” she said.

“Something valuable, I take it.”

“Very,” she confirmed. “But if you tried to sell it, there would be no buyers.”

“Heirloom, then?”

“No,” she said, and Pullo could tell by her voice that she was enjoying his puzzlement.

Which only made him try harder, so as to put an end to it. “Can’t be a holy relic, as there’d be buyers for that.”

She nodded, amusement being replaced by an impressed look. “Would you care to continue, or would you prefer to see it?”

“I’d prefer to get out of these,” Pullo said, waggling his hands.

She nodded. “Then you will guard it?”

“Depends what it is. You haven’t given me a good reason yet.”

“What if I told you that you would be protecting an object which, for so long as you keep it safe, you would not age and you would not die?”

“I’d say you’re blowing crock.”

She considered him, looking at him for a long minute. Then a broad smile stretched across her face as she came to a decision. “Then I ask you hold it for me, and I will come for it.”

“Sounds good,” Pullo said.

In response, she stepped over and, drawing a dagger from her belt, cut him free. Then she stepped back before he stood up.

As he rubbed the spots that would have started to chafe if he hadn’t gotten out of that, Pullo asked her, “And what’s your name?”

“Pudheya,” she replied. “I am Puduhepa of the dead city.”

“Cheerful,” Pullo said.

“More…appropriate,” she said. “My father was a prince, and my uncle was chief priest for worship of Nergal.”

“Never heard of him.” _There’s a lot of gods, Pullo granted. Maybe I just haven’t gotten to that scrap of dirt that worships this Nergal._

“Follow me,” Puduhepa told Pullo, and led him down the sewer pipe a little before ducking into another chamber. “There it is,” she said.

Resting on a makeshift table, slightly swaddled in cloths of varying qualities, was a white crystal bigger than both of Pullo’s fists.

“That?” Pullo asked.

“This,” she said. “Some call it the Methuselah Stone,” Puduhepa said to him. “Others, the Wadjet Eye.”

From his time in Egypt, Pullo knew a _wadjet_ was a protective ward, a device to shoo away evil. “And you trust me keeping an eye on it?”

If she noticed his pun, Puduhepa gave no notice of it. Instead, she told him a story….one of the dead city Hattusha, of her following Hannibal and coming into possession of the Stone.

And she trailed off. Pullo noticed that her eyes had a distant look to them, and she was watching the chamber’s entrance with a singular ferocity.

“Puduhepa?” Pullo asked as she pulled a nasty-looking iron blade from her clothes. _I saw the dagger on her. How did I not notice something that big?_

She picked up the Stone one-handed and handed it to him. “Take the Stone, Titus Pullo,” she told him, her voice hard as the stones you lobbed at your enemies. He accepted it, as much out of curiosity regarding it, as because her voice just now bore the same obey-or-else quality of his past commanding officers. _I chose you because you have proven yourself capable of keeping men and devices safe. Your skill with blades and bare hands also speaks on your behalf._ “Keep it safe for me. And go!” she said just before she stepped out into the sewer, stepping on the candles en route. The place went very dark.

By the time her eyes were fully dark-adjusted, she saw that Methos was in the sewer a dozen yards in front of her. He had his own sword out and ready.

As she advanced towards him, slowly slowly, and he responding likewise, she considered lighting a wick and hurling it and its pottery casing at Methos - nothing ruined the ability to see in this level of light, like a bright object, after all - and dismissed it. Any flames would affect her own eyes first, thus spoiling the tactical advantage.

“Where is it?’ Methos asked her, the tip of his sword only fingertips away from the tip of hers.

“Secure,” Puduhepa said. “And well unfindable for our kind.”

“Oh, anything can be found,” Methos assured her. “I should know.”

She nodded. “You found me.”

“That too,” he said in a way that reminded her she was incidental, and had been the last time they had met as well. He was a former Horseman. She was below consideration. “Now, where is it?”

“Find it,” Puduhepa challenged him. _I know you’ve been searching for the Stone. I may not have crossed paths with you since Hattusha, but I know what you have been on the hunt for._

“Before or after?” drawing his sword back in preparation to strike.

“Either,” she said, replying in kind with her own sword.

“Would it help if I said I didn’t want to kill you?” Methos asked.

“I have no compunction against killing you,” Puduhepa said.

“Just because I won’t, doesn’t mean I can’t,” Methos said.

“Then let’s begin.”

“There is an easier way,” he pointed out.

“True. Kneel and hold still.”

 _I don’t have time for this._ “Do you know what you’re keeping me from ? Hm?” Methos asked.

“Perfectly,” Puduhepa said.

“I doubt that.” _I need the Methuselah Stone!_

“And yet your sword is unmoved.”

 _Seriously? You think that’s going to prompt me to come charging at you? That’d be a good way to lose my head. Which I’m quite attached to._ “What can I say, I’m patient.”

“You have already demolished my world,” she said. _What more can you be waiting for the completion of?_

Methos thought, _Are you still thinking that? I had nothing to do with that._

“You will not get your hands on my ward,” Puduhepa said.

“I need it,” Methos said honestly.

“You’re not the first.”

“The woman I love is dying.”

“Love?” Puduhepa asked with a disbelieving snort.

“Would you like for me to take you to her?”

“A trap,” she said, dismissing the suggestion. “That’s what you do.”

Methos knew that if he charged after whomever it was she had given the crystal to, that would leave him vulnerable to her attack. Likewise if he turned to run the long way around her. _And I’m on a clock, so I can’t simply stand here for years._

So he seized on something Puduhepa had said. “Let me use the crystal - you can be right there if it comforts you - and I’ll help you protect it.”

“I am undefeated thus far.”

“And you know what I am.”

“I do.”

“So you know I am even greater at defeating those who incur my wrath.”

“Then come for the stone,” Puduhepa challenged him.

“What is it to you?” Methos wanted to know. _If I know_ why _its so precious to her, then I can use that._

“Of no concern to you.”

 ****

*.*.*

 **POMPEII, ten years before the eruption which destroyed the city**

“Now, let’s work on your introductions, shall we? What do you say to an Immortal you’ve just met?”

“Who are you?” Ceirdwyn answered Methos’ question.

“Very good. Another answer would be…?”

“I am Ceirdwyn of -”

“Of what?” Methos asked. “Do you think your opponent will have heard of your tribe or of your family line?” _Granted, that doesn’t stop some Immortals from keeping it._ “Listen to me, if I told you ‘I am Methos of the _Paav_ Moiety, does that tell you anything?”

“No,” Ceirdwyn said.

“Exactly. Now,” before she could object, “it’s up to you how long you remember your ancestors. Me, I remembered them until I couldn’t.” _Until my early years all started to blur._

“I don’t have to share their names with anyone, though.”

“Clever girl.”

 ****

*

 **A few days later,**

 **At a Pompeian villa…**

 _So this is what Puduhepa’s residence looks like. Clever of her,_ Methos thought as he and Ceirdwyn waited at the entrance of the villa. “This place is constructed on Holy Ground,” he advised Ceirdwyn.

“Why would my future teacher do that?” Ceirdwyn asked.

“I may have forgotten to tell her I was bringing you to her,” Methos said. “Also, she’s rather reclusive.”

“If the two of you will please follow me,” the now-returned majordomo told Methos and Ceirdwyn, and led them through a few rooms full of trophies, things that - in Methos’ opinion - you don’t keep unless they are memories, into the inner courtyard. “Please wait,” he said, and stepped over to his master Pullo, who was - Methos observed - in the middle of a strategy-oriented board game with two girl children.

Pullo excused himself and came over to his guests. “And who might you be?”

Ceirdwyn shot a glare at Methos before looking down on Pullo. “And who are you?”

Methos explained to him, “We were expecting to be greeted by Puduhepa, the woman who built this villa after Hannibal Barca’s death.”

“I know her,” Pullo said. “Though not as well as you, it seems.”

“Clearly she trusts you.”

“Does she now?”

“She entrusted you with her villa and the Crystal.” _Puduhepa is nowhere to be found in all of Italia,_ Methos knew. The trick was to make Pullo think that Methos was just as trusted as Pullo seemed to be.

“The what?” Pullo asked.

“The Crystal. Where is it?” Methos asked.

“Where’s what, stick?” Pullo asked. _You’re skinnier than Vorenus._

“The Crystal. The one **she** gave you.”

“What crystal?”

“Did she tell you what else it does?” Methos asked. “Or where it comes from?”

“Like a Senator with the oratory, you are,” Pullo said. _You just won’t shut up about it, no matter what anyone tells you._

“I’ve been informed that’s one of my finer traits.” _The others aren’t always good for when company’s over._ “I have a proposal for you, then,” Methos said. “Though if it is not to your liking, perhaps a wager.”

“What’re you thinking of?” Pullo asked him.

“Well, being as Puduhepa clearly trusts you with much, I think I should entrust you with my student here, to be your ward until Puduhepa arrives to teach her.”

Pullo considered this. “As attractive as your proposal is, what’s the wager?”

Methos said to Ceirdwyn, “Fight him.”

 _What?_ “You said this is Holy Ground and we can’t fight here,“ Ceirdwyn said.

 **“We** cannot, yes,” Methos said. **“He** is mortal.” Figuring it would help her, he asked Pullo, “Are you perchance Roman?”

“I am,” Pullo said, and before he could add ‘in every way,’ Ceirdwyn had drawn her sword. “Bad experience?”

“You could say that,” Methos said. “Her tribe was massacred by men in stolen uniforms.”

“Bastards,” Pullo said. _Killing’s one thing. Blaming someone else is another._

“They were,” Ceirdwyn agreed. “Now, do you care to fight?”

“I never turn down a good fight. Just never had many with a woman.” _Well, not that sort of fight._

“Unfortunate for you,” Ceirdwyn said, and began the duel.

It was a while later that the fight ended, Pullo and Ceirdwyn covered in sweat and bloody nicks healing up. _Not yet an hour, but not off by a great while,_ Methos thought to himself as they came over to him.

Ceirdwyn accosted him, “You said we heal everything and we always recover.”

Methos nodded. “I did. And we do. But never did I say that our kind don’t tire.”

“Lucky me,” Pullo joked.

“And now,” Methos said to him, “your answer?”

“Sure,” Pullo said. “I’ll be happy to keep an eye on your student here.”

“I am a warrior,” Ceirdwyn stated. “My people are warriors.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” Pullo said.

“You misunderstand. My people do not accept charity.”

“What charity? This is hospitality.”

“In that case, I will go along with this….for now,” she said to both men.

“Splendid,” Methos said. “Now, if the two of you will excuse me, I need to use the restroom - take the opportunity to get to know one another before I leave.” _I’ll be back in fifteen or twenty years. Enough time for these girls to be married off, leaving you with just Ceirdwyn. And either she will find out from you where the Stone is, or I’ll have found Puduhepa by that time and extracted the information from her._

After Methos was gone, they were quiet.

But, in the end, curiosity won out. “Have you always lived here?” Ceirdwyn asked.

“Mostly, not always,” Pullo said. “Kept to myself for the most part. Since the civil war, anyway.”

If she had arrived ten years from now, she would have known about the post-Nero struggle for power, to see who would wear the purple robe of the Emperor. Word of that reached even the distant Picts. But right now? “Which civil war?“ Ceirdwyn asked. Instead of ‘what war?’

“The one Octavian won,” Pullo said. “Augustus Caesar, you probably know him as.” _Before your time, maybe._ “Anyway, I’ve stopped in Rome a few times since then? You ever been? Falco would like you, I’m sure.” _He was a great help and the closest thing I’ve had to a pal since Vorenus._

“I don’t care for Romans,” Ceirdwyn said.

 _I’m not a great fan of Octavian’s successors myself._ “Where did you say you were from?”

“I didn’t.”

“Just checking. Tell you what, go ahead.

 **That** had the desired effect of throwing her mentally off balance. “What?” Ceirdwyn asked.

“Ask me anything you want,” Pullo said. “I’ll answer it, on my honor.”

“What honor?”

“Mine.”

“All right,” Ceirdwyn said. “How old are you?”

“Nearly a full century,” Titus said. “Used to be part of one, too. In my youth.”

 _Why would I be left with him?_ Ceirdwyn wondered. _Methos said this villa’s owner could sympathize with my situation. Surely not him!_. “What have you lost?” she asked of him.

 _Not one to beat around the bush, I see._ “My unit, my family, my patrons, and worst of all, my friends,” Titus said.

 _Ah, that is why._ “How did you survive?” she asked. She hoped the answer was applicable to her.

“Me? I kept plodding on. Reinvented myself a little. Not much, but then, anyone who would notice I’m still Titus Pullo, is done and with the gods.”

 _That’s a sight better than Methos’ ‘I keep walking, I don’t stop moving.’_ “Can you show me?” Ceirdwyn asked.

“Sure.”

“But if you put the moves on me, I will kill you, even if it doesn’t take.”

Though the ‘even if it doesn’t take’ bit made no sense, Pullo laughed and asked, “Where have you been all my life?”

 ****

*.*.*

 **POMPEII, on the eve of the eruption:**

The girls by now were teens. Pullo had only a grey hair or two at the most. Ceirdwyn was physically unchanged.

But they still played board games of strategic thinking every day, and today was no different.

Until…

Ceirdwyn sensed it: the Buzz. “Someone’s here,” she said to Titus under her breath. The two of them stood up and looked around.

Titus saw Puduhepa first. She was standing in the archway at the entrance to the inner courtyard, with a servant unconscious at her feet.

Titus Pullo went ramrod-straight. “You’re back. Took ya long enough,” trying to sound like his old indifferent self.

Puduhepa said nothing and did not leave the archway.

“Right,” Pullo said. Rather than use Ceirdwyn’s name - a risky business, from what Ceirdwyn had told him of what she had learned from Methos - he said, “Dear, this is the worthy who found me and dragged me to the sewers.”

“I remember you mentioning those stories,” Ceirdwyn said. To Puduhepa, “Good day.”

“I’m not here for you,” Puduhepa replied. “Stand aside. Pullo?”

“Yes?”

Puduhepa looked down at him, though they were roughly the same height.

“Ah,” Pullo said. To the girls he‘d been playing with a moment ago, “Vorena, Niobe, say hello.”

“Hello,” Niobe said.

“Hi,” Vorena said shyly.

Puduhepa waited.

“Why don’t you two play in the garden,” Pullo said. When his adopted daughters were gone with the servants, he said to Puduhepa, “To what do I owe this visit?”

“I’ve come for the crystals,” she stated.

“Just like that?” Pullo said.

“Just like this. I would think you’d be grateful, Pullo.”

“And now it’s ‘Pullo’? See, I’ve figured a few things out since you dropped in on me and ran off.”

“Is that so?” she asked, amused, as she stepped slowly into the room. “Pray continue.”

“It’s the crystal that’s kept me alive this long. None of the gods had a hand in it.” _Used to think they did._

“And whence did the crystal come from?”

 _You’re mocking me._ “Maybe same place you did. You and whoever scared the shit out of you last time we met.”

“I protected the crystal before you, recall,” Puduhepa said. _And I need it back._

“Eh.”

“You’re sloppy, Pullo,” she said.

“I’ve never heard complaints.”

“You live in one place for too long. You have too many people knowing who you are. You’re almost a cult figure to some people.”

Pullo shrugged. “I’m me. Nothing more’n that.”

Puduhepa would have responded to that, but she and Ceirdwyn sensed the arrival of another Immortal. “Then demonstrate that quality I chose you for, Titus Pullo,” Puduhepa said. “Take your dear ones and escape while you can.”

“What’s going through that -”

“GO,” she said, her voice as commanding as any commanding officer Pullo had ever had.

“Girls!” Pullo called. “Time to go,” and he left.

As did Ceirdwyn with him, taking with her a sword whose hilt bore the likeness of a human head.

Puduhepa walked through the villa now that it was abandoned, empty once more of life. “And here you are,” she said when she came across the Immortal. “Who are you?”

“I am Charybdis,” he said.

 _Pretentious much?_ “All things end. Particularly if they come from the water,” and waited for him to draw his sword.

“Everything drowns,” he countered. “Give me what I’ve come for, and I’ll let you wash up on the shore, alive.”

“That would defeat the purpose,” Puduhepa said, and drew her sword.

The fight lasted until Pullo and Ceirdwyn and the girls were at a safe distance. Then…

The Quickening began. Vesuvius erupted. And, for all intents and purposes, Pompeii and the surrounding lands ceased to exist.

  
**  
_*.*.*_   
**

_“The last time an Immortal fought on Holy Ground? That’d be in 70 AD. Pompeii.” “The volcano?” “Yeah.”_

 _\--Joe Dawson, Duncan MacLeod; Tin God._

 ***.*.***

 **Los Angeles**

 **Present Day**

“An interesting story,” Henry Fitzroy said.

“And true,” Amanda said. _Rebecca had a few pieces, smuggled out by Ceirdwyn and the adopted girls. The Watchers removed the rest of the Crystal when the place was among the excavations in the 18th and 20th Centuries._

And from the time Methos had begun to tell his tale, until only a few years ago, Amanda had always taken the “Four Horsemen” references to be allegorical.

Amanda also considered that, _Was Methos engaged in a long game - to get Ceirdwyn to get the Crystal for him? Or when his first attempt failed, did he figure he would treat Pullo like an Immortal, complete with passing along a student?_

“From what you know,” Henry said.

“Meaning?”

He shrugged. “It could be part of an explanation. A _mishnah_ of Immortality.”

“Filling in the details of a statement we make from time to time,” Amanda said. She knew what _mishnah_ were. “I suppose. Or it’s the previously unreleased story behind the statement.”

“Also a possibility,” Henry said. Just then, his phone went off. “If you’ll excuse me, Amanda,” and stepped away from the table. “Vicki,” Henry said into his cell phone. “How are you?” and listened. “A favor? Would this favor be related to the one you asked me about yesterday?” and heard her answer. “My answer hasn’t changed - I am not going to see the play with you and Detectives Cellucci and Lam.”

Henry sighed. “I know it isn’t The Scottish Play. That’s not my - no, it really isn’t my point.” He waited for Vicki to finish her argument. “Fine. I’ll attend.” He smiled as he listened to her. “A big favor,” he nodded. “I just need to finish something here and I’ll be over. No, that doesn’t count, but nice try.”

Henry returned to the table.

“Big plans?” Amanda asked.

“Uncomfortable would be a better word,” Henry said. “But I have a question for you.”

“Okay.”

“Assuming that he was real, could this Titus Pullo have been a vampire?”

“He wasn’t,” Amanda said.

“And yet he hadn’t aged for a hundred years,” Henry pointed out.

“And he was awake when the sun was up,” Amanda said.

“Hm. I’ll get back to you,” Henry said. _And again, thanks for trusting me to help you with this._

“Thanks,” Amanda said. _Thanks for being a great friend, Henry. That’s why I brought this to you._ “And I have a question for you.”

Henry nodded.

“How did you adjust to…you know, the loss of everything.”

“One of the advantages to being at the top of the food chain, is that everything else lets you sort yourself out at your own pace,” Henry said. _With the exception of things like extra dimensional beings, old gods, and other vampires._ “On the other hand, **my** civilization is still around. If any of those disasters had happened to me…to be honest, that’s something I’d have to consider.”

 _Okay._

“I really should let you be off, Henry,” Amanda said. “And have fun tonight.”

“Thank you,” Henry said.


End file.
